


The Valentine Volley

by KingdomLights



Series: The Rivals [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Platonic Bed Sharing, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 10:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17785448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingdomLights/pseuds/KingdomLights
Summary: Two weeks before Valentine's Day, Scott Moir needs a favour and it's time to call it in.What's a guy to do when he's staring down the barrel of a lost bet?Well... sometimes you use the temptation of food to get a foot in the door.Sometimes, you do the Argentine Tango.And sometimes... you need to bust through a door to rescue your rival to realise, that losing a bet, isn't necessarily the worst thing that could happen.Part 2 ofThe Rivals Series





	The Valentine Volley

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bucketofrice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketofrice/gifts), [violetwreaths (gracesvirtue)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracesvirtue/gifts), [ladyfriday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyfriday/gifts), [hooksandheroics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hooksandheroics/gifts), [Miss_Six](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Six/gifts), [Nats_North_by_North](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nats_North_by_North/gifts), [OnlySkyAboveMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlySkyAboveMe/gifts), [PinkGerberDaisies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGerberDaisies/gifts).



> We have [restlessvirtue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/restlessvirtue/pseuds/restlessvirtue) to thank for this one getting out there. She slid into my DMs on February 1st and said "hey, are you writing valentine's fic because I really think you should?"
> 
> To some hilarity, we later discovered that we were both working off the same prompt. So here's to: "That better not be a pity rose. Pity chocolate I’ll take, but that’s it."
> 
> For the gals in the gc, who continue to remind me that I am capable of stringing two sentences together.
> 
> I threw every trope in the book at this one. Don't @ me, it's all I know.

**_i. Tessa_ **

There are three things Tessa Virtue knows for certain right now.

One. Spring cannot come fast enough.

Two. breakfast cereal is a great meal no matter what time of day it is.

And three. Scott Moir is a royal – and she means, _royal_ – pain in the ass.

 ~

**February 1 st **

All she’d asked – _all she’d asked!_ – was that he watch her teams while she was in Toronto. And all she’d got in return was an inbox full of mayhem.

 

9:15am  
do ice dancers still need to touch each other?

9:16am  
there’s been a lot of rule changes and I just want to make sure I got this.

9:20am  
WOO HOO. Ready to tangle it all up!

9:20am  
tango not tangle!

9:48am  
WOW were we this awkward when we were teenagers?

9:49am  
don’t answer that

11:02am  
they asked what I thought of their rockers.

11:02am  
asked them what a rocker was

11:24am  
Things are going adequately. I think I’ll give them the rest of the day off.

12:17pm  
is it alright if they just know half the step sequence? I need to grab some snacks.

2:38pm  
just to check. Do BOTH skaters have to be on the ice at the same time for this to work?

2:38pm  
asking for a friend

4:56pm  
hey am I getting this right?

  
She stares at the image of Scott sitting on the ice in a fold-out chair, legs stretched out in front of him as he examines a large sheet of paper that reads: _Ice Dance, For Dummies_. There’s a sticker on his head that says “Coach.”

Tessa rolls her eyes.

“You have _five_ Olympic medals!” she says to her phone, pointedly ignoring the fact that he’d somehow convinced every single one of her skaters to play along – as evidenced by several other photographs of her teams – all in variously staged acts of disaster.

She sighs, reading the glint in his eyes and the casual raise of his brow for what it was.

How is it that the man was _five-hundred_ kilometers away and he was _still_ trying to drive her nuts?

* * *

 

Twenty-four hours later she knocks on his door, her arms already folding across her chest as he opens it.

“Couldn’t even unpack first, eh?” he says, half a grilled sandwich wedged between his fingers.

“I’m… what?”

He waves it vaguely near the side of her nose and she has to resist every impulse to lean forward and take a bite.

Her stomach betrays her with a growl.

“Your suitcase,” he says, nodding toward her own front door, the hint of a smile on his lips indicating he hadn’t missed it. “I mean, I get it. Just couldn’t wait to see me, again eh?”

“Please tell me you at _least_ worked through my notes?” she says.

“Notes… notes…”

He looks up at the ceiling, stroking his chin and shaking his head.

“You know it’s _okay_ to take a day off every once in a while?” Tessa says, wrinkling her nose in response.

Scott snorts.

“The irony of you telling _me_ to take a day off.”

“I enjoy working!”

“And _I_ enjoy driving you crazy,” he replies.

She gives him a look.

“Oh, come on, you love me,” he says.

Tessa’s comeback dies on her lips when she realises her arsenal of retort lies empty.

She compensates by shoving her phone in front of his face.

“Explain,” she says.

“Hm,” he replies, pretending to examine the image more closely. “Well, I’d say that’s a pretty handsome guy right there. Athletic, I’d say - although it’s hard to tell from just one picture, do you have one without the jacket? And he makes a mean grilled cheese, I mean, if that’s something you were after.”

Tessa huffs through her nose and scrolls back to the video she’d _meant_ to show, before turning the screen back toward him.

Scott takes another bite of his sandwich.

“Hey, I _asked_ if they were both meant to be on the ice,” he says. “You didn’t answer, so I just let one of them run along the outside of the boards!”

She wants to murder him.

Slowly.

“Is that… not what you wanted?” he says, bringing the sandwich back to his lips.

She snatches it from his fingers and takes a bite far bigger than she can possibly chew.

Scott grins, clearly enjoying her plight of wanting to win this one over not wanting to choke and die looking like a hamster. Shoving a finger to his lips, she turns his face away from her, the palm of her hand resting against his jaw and keeping him there. She can feel him vibrating with silent laughter.

“You – uh – want the other half?” he says, when she finally lets go.

 _Yes_ , she thinks.

“No,” she says. “Thank you.”

“You sure?”

_No._

“Mm hm,” she replies, knowing how unconvincing she must sound.

“Okay,” he replies, reaching into his apartment and returning just as quickly with a plate now in hand.

She eyes the rest of the sandwich, wondering why the idea of eating _his_ was more delicious than going inside and making her own.

“So, I see you went with the purple,” Scott says, brushing past her, plate still in hand and raising the handle on her suitcase.

“I… what?” she says, too distracted by the gesture to realise he was obviously talking about her dress.

Tessa reaches into her purse for her keys.

“Had a few buddies at the Motionball last night,” he says.

Tessa takes that to mean that he probably knew half the room.

“You were in the background of one of their photos,” he adds, “looking very – uh – purple.”

“And?” she says.

“I don't know, I just... not really my colour.”

“Oh,” she replies. “I didn't realise you were looking to borrow something.”

“Not... what I meant. You just... I just... prefer...”

He seems to have some awareness of the danger he’s in but Tessa’s not about to show him any mercy.

“Why thank you Mr. Do I Own Anything Else Besides Team Canada gear? I'll be sure to jot that one down in my pocket book of completely immaterial Scott Moir observations,” she says. “And for the record, it was plum.”

“I... you have a _book_?”

She sighs, finding the eye roll accompanying it quite natural.

“She doesn’t have a book,” Scott says to himself, following her into her apartment and wheeling her suitcase behind him. “You’re just an ass.”

“He’s starting to get it,” she says.

“At least it’s a good ass,” he says. “What? It is! Don’t _think_ I haven’t caught you staring.”

“You are on _thin_ ice, buddy.”

“No, not at all,” he replies. “I had Danielle flood the ice before I left.”

Scrunching her nose at him, Tessa grabs the plate out of his hand and takes a bite of the sandwich.

“Didn’t they feed you on the train?” he says, with amusement.

“We rerouted near Brockville,” she replies.

“Snow?”

“Yeah. I thought I could hold out.”

“I’m guessing it was a bad plan,” he says, nodding at the way she was covering the plate protectively.

“Something like that,” she replies.

“Did you know your _tree_ is still up?”

Tessa glances toward the window.

“Uh huh.”

“Virtch, it’s February.”

“So? It’s not like it’s still decorated,” she replies, shifting her stance from foot-to-foot.

He raises an eyebrow but makes no further comment about it.

“So,” he says. “Where do you want me?”

She blinks in surprise before he flicks his eyes casually at her suitcase, the smile on his lips indicating he knows full-well what he was doing with that one.

She tilts her head slowly toward her shoulder, desperately trying to figure out how to avoid using the word “bedroom”.

“Over there’s good,” she says, mumbling into the sandwich.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that? Over… where?” he says, sliding her luggage in the right direction but pretending to look lost all the same. “Here?”

She sighs.

“For the record,” he says, disappearing into the darkness of her bedroom. “ _I_ would look _great_ in plum.”

* * *

 

**February 4 th **

“Just FYI,” Tessa says, coming up behind him and leaning into Scott’s ear. “It _does_ take two to Tango.”

“Is that your way of asking me to dance?” he replies, not taking his eyes off the ice.

“No,” she says, with a laugh. “That’s just in case you get any more ideas about letting our skaters run alongside the boards.”

“ _Our_ skaters?” he says, turning his head to look at her.

She shrugs.

It’s late afternoon but the rink has been empty for most of the day, all senior teams – as well as their coaches – having already left for Anaheim.

Patch had waved cheerily the night before, asking them to hold down the fort in their absence, while Marie had given them a long stare that had made them both a little uncomfortable.

“Just make sure the building is still standing when we get back, yes?” she’d said, before heading out the door behind her husband.

“I guess they are our skaters, eh?” he says, with a gleam in his eyes. “Eight whole days without Mom and Dad, whatever shall we do?”

She smiles at that, knowing full-well that Scott would never do anything to jeopardise the trust their former mentors had placed in them.

“Hey,” he says. “Care to help me with a little knee work?”

She raises her eyebrows at that and follows his gaze toward Marjorie and Zach, who are back on the ice after a brief comfort break.

“We’ve been working on the second half of that pattern,” he explains. “Gotta tighten it up before Worlds.”

“They have a real shot at podium,” Tessa replies.

“Yep,” Scott says. “But we have to get those knees to work with the tempo, first. You in? There’s dinner in it for you, if you say yes.”

“Oh great,” Tessa says. “So, not only do I get to spend all day with you, but I get to sacrifice my evening too? What did I do to get this lucky?”

Scott wags a finger at her, and she does her best to hide a smile.

“Relax, eh?” he says. “I’ll stop off for some take-out, drop it right outside your door.”

“What’s the catch?” she says, eyeing him sceptically.

“No catch,” he says, raising his palms in the air. “You help me out, I feed you, simple as that.”

“Simple as that?” she says. “You’re not going to try and weasel your way inside so you can dismantle my Christmas tree?”

“Maybe another time, eh?” he says. “But tonight, I have a date.”

“Oh,” she says, hearing the surprise in her voice as it hitches in the back of her throat.

He eyes her curiously – he hadn’t missed the sudden change in pitch – and dammit if she doesn’t want to wipe away the smirk edging along the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he replies.

She nods, her head bobbing up and down on repeat as her synaptic system attempts to sever itself from the rest of her body.

“Okay,” she says. “Well, that’s…”

Nice? Wonderful? What could she say that wouldn’t make it sound completely forced?

And _didn’t_ he have a date back in December? Does he really _need_ another one?

 

And why does she care?

 

“That’s…”

She watches the way his lips keep twitching and it takes an extra second for her to realise that he’s leaned in close.

Too close.

 _Way_ too close.

“ _Leafs_ are playing the _Ducks_ ,” he says, the softness in his voice doing something else entirely to her spine.

He straightens up and Tessa’s breathing kicks in once more.

“Oh,” she says again.

The smirk is back, and she briefly considers bursting into flame.

“I mean, you’re welcome to join me,” he says. “But it’s not your typical, standard date. I mean, there’ll be a lot of yelling and… not everybody gets to win.”

“Hm, I’d love to,” she says, flitting a hand back and forth. “But on _my_ dates, everybody _definitely_ gets to win.”

“Is that a… proposition?” Scott says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“In your dreams, Moir,” she replies, stepping backward onto the ice and pushing off.

He sets off after her, catching up easily and skating alongside her until she turns in to him, moving effortlessly into the hold.

It’s been a decade since their own Argentine Tango, but the depth of their knowledge and the strength of their training doesn’t betray them, as they drive the edges across the ice. Scott’s all business – a testament to his professionalism considering she’d quite possibly just suggested they should have sex – as he murmurs each step and they move in response. This is his show and she’s happy to oblige – particularly as it means she won’t have to cook anything later! There’s a power and a sharpness to this dance and she knows that’s what he’ll want to convey to the young skaters watching them.

Somewhere between the first and second sequence she finds her stride, taking over every other command until she’s not entirely sure which of them is leading. It shouldn’t surprise her, she thinks, before his lips find her neck as he dips her in his arms, and she forgets her own damn name. She’s grateful for the applause from the group of juniors by the boards, because Scott is too busy beaming at them and not in any position to notice the flush creeping into her cheeks.

Tessa skates away from him, giving herself space to cool off and hoping like hell no one will notice her sudden inability to skate in a straight line. When she rejoins them a minute later, she finds his expression unreadable, which is odd for her and slightly infuriating.

She turns her attention back to their teams, as well as Marjorie and Zach, whose eyes are bright with excitement. She smiles warmly, their expressions reminding her of the way she and Scott would look at Marie and Patch when they were younger.

“Ready to start?” Tessa says.

She can feel him studying her and Tessa has no choice but to meet his gaze or risk losing face.

“You want North or South?” he says, that tell-tale smile still on his lips.

“North,” she replies, nodding at the group of young skaters who shoot up the other side of the ice.

“Y’know,” Scott says, looking over his shoulder to check that Zach and Marjorie were out of earshot. “You’re kinda cute when you’re pretending not to like me.”

“ _So_ , not pretending,” Tessa replies. “My desire to run you over with the Zamboni still stands and I’ll happily flood the ice after, right over your flattened corpse.”

“Ouch!” Scott says, clutching a hand to his chest. “We’re meant to be partners here, eh? Holding the fort, remember? A fort is only as strong as its foundation.”

“Did Patrice give you that one?”

Scott beams with pride.

“No, that was all me.”

“Huh.”

“What? Do you like it?” he says, nodding to himself. “I liked it.”

“Oh, for sure,” Tessa replies, patting him on the chest. “And totally adorable coming from a guy who smells like chocolate milk.”

* * *

 

“I’m digging the jammies,” Scott says, leaning one arm up against the door frame and dangling a carrier bag from two fingers.

Tessa looks down at her matching ensemble before meeting his eye.

“Are pyjamas unusual?” she asks.

“To me? No,” he replies. “I’m just so used to you answering the door without any pants on, is all.”

Tessa rolls her eyes.

“Literally, once,” she says.

Scott raises an eyebrow.

“That ‘once’ includes the thirty or forty times before that, right?” he says, brushing past her with the bag of food and heading for her kitchen.

“Hey!” she says. “You said you were just going to drop the food and go!”

“Relax, T,” he replies, decanting the contents onto a counter top. “It’s all in one bag – I’m just doing my bit for the planet here.”

“Well, far be it for me to stop you from helping the environment,” Tessa says, smiling at his frown of concentration as he sorts their food into piles. She leans in a little, her shoulder just brushing his arm, savouring the aromas coming towards her.

“Hey, hands off!” he says, swatting her fingers as she sneaks a little chicken.

She giggles and waits until he reaches into the bag again, before she grabs another piece.

“Do you mind?” Scott says, turning his head to look at her. “I didn’t take my shoes off before I knocked, for you to start stealing my dinner!”

She blinks up at him, innocently.

“I am very appreciative of you taking the time to remove your shoes,” she says.

“Yeah?”

He cocks his head, holding her gaze, and her stomach does a flip that has nothing whatsoever to do with her desire for food.

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips she finds thoroughly distracting.

“Mm hm,” she says, looking down suddenly to stop herself from doing something stupid. “I always get a kick out of seeing you in your Marvin the Martian socks.”

She grins back up at him, nose wrinkling in amusement.

“So, you think about my feet a lot, eh?” he says.

Whatever retort Tessa might have dies on her lips, and all she’s left with is a sudden heat flooding her face while her mouth forms a perfect ‘o’.

_What the hell is happening?_

Scott – to his credit – is either choosing to let it go, or else he’s deliberately avoiding the elephant in the room as he pivots back toward the counter. He looks a little distracted himself.

They’d never talked about it, the Gala, not that night, and not since – for which Tessa is extremely grateful. The last thing she wanted was for either of them to awkward their way through that particular conversation.

But she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it – thought about _them_ – at least in a context that wasn’t one of them trying to drive the other up the wall.

“So, uh,” she says, searching for a neutral conversation starter and hating that she even needs one. “Are you… um… going to the Valentine’s Social?”

 _Oh my God, Virtue, that was_ not _neutral._

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he says. “I told Patch I didn’t mind making an appearance so that he and Marie could take a break and spend some time together.”

“Oh,” she says. “That was nice of you. I mean, I know it’s a public session, but a lot of our skaters will be there and I’m sure people would enjoy seeing you.”

Scott smiles, looking at her curiously.

“You thinking about going?” he asks.

Tessa shakes her head.

“Not really my thing,” she says.

Scott raises an eyebrow.

“I guess I’m not really in the mood for it this year,” she adds.

“So, you’re going to leave me all alone, prying juniors off of one another all night?” he says.

Tessa laughs.

“It won’t be that bad!”

“Tess,” he says, balancing his hands either side of him like a scale. “Valentine’s day, horny kids.”

She snorts.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember what it was like,” he says, popping a piece of chicken into his mouth with a grin.

She ducks her head and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear to avoid looking at him. Scott already knew too many of her secrets and she’d rather not have him revisit any of them right now.

“You should come anyway,” Scott says. “It’ll be good for you. Unless… you’ve got some big date planned?”

“Date?” Tessa says. “No. No date. I’m not really… I’m taking some time for myself.”

“Is that polite code for ‘mind your own business, Moir’?” he says.

Tessa smiles.

“No, I just… no I don’t have a date.”

It’s a cop-out, she knows, but she’s not about to go diving into her feelings about Todd Lapointe and resurrect them in front of Scott Moir. The break-up still hurts – sometimes hits her at three in the morning and keeps her up dissecting her flaws – but she’s working through it. She’s simply not ready to put herself out there again.

“Great,” Scott says. “Because I need your help with something.”

“I already told you, I’m not going.”

“Relax, Virtch, I won’t keep you from your bubble bath and terrible taste in music,” he says.

Tessa swats him with a dishcloth.

“I need your help with something else,” he says.

“Oh?”

“Sort of a – uh – return of favour.”

She eyes him warily.

“Look, Chiddy set me up on this thing Saturday night but he’s still in Vancouver and he’s not going to make it here in time due to the weather,” Scott says. “So… I need a wingman.”

“A wingman?” Tessa repeats.

“Wingman,” he says, with a nod.

“For… what?”

“It’s just a… thing… no big deal… should be in and out in about two hours, tops.”

“What _kind_ of thing?”

“A thing… just a thing that… I… need a buddy for.”

“A buddy?” Tessa says.

“Yup,” Scott says.

“Am I… _allowed_ to know what it is I’m meant to be helping you out with?” she says.

“Yeah, it’s a – um – well it’s an… event.”

“ _Okay_.”

“With… some tables,” he continues. “And – uh – you sit one side and you… talk… to other people… sort of… one at a time and it’s all pretty fast and… then you decide if you want to talk to them some more and… I mean, there’s a bar.”

Tessa folds her arms and gives him a look.

“Are you… talking about…”

“Speed dating?” Scott says. “Yeah.”

Tessa barks out a laugh.

“You’re going… _speed dating_?” she says.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that! It wasn’t my idea!”

“And yet somehow, _you’re_ still going, and Chiddy’s conveniently out west?” she says.

“Uh, correction, _we’re_ going,” Scott says, waving a finger back and forth between them.

Tessa laughs.

“I am _not_ going speed dating,” she says.

“Hey, remember that time I took you to the Canadian Sport Gala to make your ex-boyfriend jealous?”

Tessa sighs.

“Yes,” she says.

Scott smiles broadly.

“Return. Of. Favour.”

“Why do you even _need_ someone to go with you?” Tessa says. “Isn’t the whole idea that you… you know…”

She makes flitting motions with her fingers.

“Sure,” Scott says.

“So,” she says. “Why do you need _me_?”

Scott sighs.

“Because it was a… dare.”

“A what?”

“A dare.”

“Are you fourteen?” she says.

Scott gives her a look.

“I’m just asking,” she says, waving a hand in the air.

“Fine,” he says. “It wasn’t a dare. We were on the slopes a while back and… I lost a bet… and this was the – uh – consequence.”

“What bet?” Tessa asks.

“Uh, uh,” he says. “Not going there.”

“Well, I guess _I’m_ not going speed dating, then.”

“Virtch, you owe me,” he says.

He has her there.

As much as she’d like to counter the point by reminding him how much he’d actually _enjoyed_ pissing Todd off, she can’t deny that he went above and beyond in his fake duties that night.

Tessa rolls her eyes.

“So, what’s my part in all this?”

Scott grins.

“Like I said - wingman. I really have no idea what I’m doing here and this way, you can talk me up.”

“I can’t wait,” Tessa replies, dryly.

“Knew you’d come ‘round,” he says, holding up the box of chicken.

“You do realise,” she says, taking another piece. “That I won’t actually be at the tables with any of the _women_?”

“Yes, but you’ll get to be at the bar with them,” Scott says. “You can… say a few nice things about me.”

“I guess so,” Tessa replies. “So, do you want me to tell them about the time you used a three-man slingshot to throw a grapefruit through my window? Or should I just tell them about the time you and the Canton boys invented an interesting version of Curling involving hockey skates, some questionable-looking rocks and a serious lack of pants?”

“Okay, first of all,” he says, sticking a finger in the air. “I was just trying to make sure you were getting enough fruits and vegetables. And second of all…”

“Mm?”

“You’ll tell them my team won, right?”

“Scott, your ass had freezer burn,” Tessa says. “I’m not sure any of you really won that night.”

“So, you’ll go with me?” he asks.

She rolls her eyes to the ceiling.

“Fine,” she says.

Scott beams.

“Now leave me alone, so I can eat my food in peace.”

“As you wish,” he says, sticking his own dinner back in the bag.

“Enjoy the game,” she says, walking him to the door.

“Let me know if you need ear plugs,” he replies.

She laughs softly.

“I’ll be okay,” she says. “I have some work to do, but I’ll stick the game on in the background. Hey, did Patrice ask you to go to Japan? Thought maybe I’d get some peace and quiet then.”

“I – uh – no,” he says. “It’s not like I’ve got any teams competing and I kind of wanted a travel-light year for once.”

“That makes sense,” she replies, wondering why he looks so shifty.

“It does?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Did you think it wouldn’t?”

“No, I… I just have some things on my mind.”

“What kinds of things?”

She says it lightly, giving him an easy out.

“I don’t know – probably something that’ll make _you_ happy,” he says, with a self-deprecating laugh. “But I haven’t really thought it all the way through yet and I don’t want to keep you from your dinner.”

“Okay,” she says. “Do you want any help with it? I’m pretty good at organising.”

Scott shakes his head.

“Nah, it’s okay, T, I don’t want to bother you.”

“Since when?” she replies.

He smiles at that.

“Maybe another time.”

“Scott,” Tessa says. “Is everything, okay?”

She hopes it doesn’t sound like she’s prying. Whatever’s going on is his business, and they’ve always been good at accepting the ebb they need from each other, but there’s a look in his eyes she doesn’t understand, and that’s new for her.

“Yeah,” he says. “Look, it’s not serious, you won’t need to show up on my doorstep with bowls of soup or anything – _please_ don’t show up on my doorstep with bowls of soup, I’ve _seen_ your refrigerator - and you’ve got enough thoughts on your own projects without having to wade through mine. You’re not going to want to sift through this.”

She watches the way he taps a finger to his head, the way the bashful smile returns to his lips, and tries to remember when last he’d been this cagey. They’d always been honest with each other – sometimes brutally so – but their partnership would have died without it. In fact, there were only two things she can remember ever being dishonest with him about. The first was how much pain her legs were _actually_ in, and the second – well – was probably the reason she wouldn’t risk reaching out and giving him a hug right now.

“Why don’t you try me?” she says.

“Because you’re probably the one person I can’t talk to about this,” he replies.

“Oh,” she says biting her lip against the sudden sting. “Okay.”

“Tess,” he says.

“It’s fine, Scott,” she says. “Go watch the game.”

“No, Tess,” he says, shaking his head again. “I don’t mean it like that. You’re… you’re the one person I need to tell, and… honestly I just have… no idea how.”

“You’re… you’re leaving,” she says.

She can tell by the way his body shifts suddenly, that he’s surprised, and she has to tear her eyes away from her unnecessarily close inspection of the doorframe to meet his.

Tessa knows he could bluff this, tell her she was off the mark, or make some quip about her ability to jump to worse-case scenario, because even though she wants to skate over his fingers most days, driving her nuts is a small price to pay for a good partnership – but instead, he looks beat.

He must have been holding this in for a while.

“When?” she asks.

“End of the season.”

She swallows, fighting against the knot of tension and confusion pulsing through her. Marie and Patch had to know – he’d never just drop them in it like that.

Did his teams know?

Was she the last?

She searches his face for the answer and finds him looking back at her in a way that only confuses her more.

“Do you remember,” he says, before clearing his throat a little. “When Chiddy and I talked about how it was a shame so many athletes had to leave Canada to train?”

“Yeah,” she replies, because it’s all she can manage right now.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen or how it’ll all work out but… I think about the kind of coach I want to be, the kind of school I want to be a part of and, I mean, this comes close but…”

“You want more.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess I want it on my own terms – crazy as it sounds.”

“It doesn’t sound crazy at all.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, giving him an encouraging smile. “I think you’d be really good at it.”

“You’re not just saying that to get rid of me faster?” he says, his impish grin returning.

“Well,” she says, cocking her head to one side. “I mean… I had to try, right?”

“Right,” he says, with a laugh. “Well, I… should probably get going, y’know, before the food gets _completely_ cold.”

She nods, trying to work out if there was any other plausible reason for her sudden loss in appetite.

Scott was leaving, leaving Gadbois.

 

And Tessa has no idea how she feels about that.

 

“Hey,” she says, watching him head down the hallway toward his own door. “I mean it. Let me know if you need any help organising your thoughts.”

“Thanks, T,” he says. “You know you’re not so bad when you’re aren’t tapping at your watch and yelling at me to get off the ice.”

“Well, somebody has to teach you how to be punctual.”

“Because that’s worked so well for you the past twenty-one years.”

She can’t help but smile.

“Seriously though,” she says. “I’d be happy to help get rid of you.”

He grins.

“Duly noted. Although really, you’ve definitely got bigger priorities right now.”

“I do?”

“Absolutely,” Scott says. “You’re going to need the next couple of days to plan _all_ the great things you’re going to be saying about me, Saturday night.”

Tessa laughs.

“Well then, _you’re_ going to have to work a little on that eager-puppy look,” she says.

“Too much?”

“Let’s put it this way. If _you_ want Chiddy to think you got a match out of this,” she says. “We’re going to have to work on your penchant for going from zero to one-twenty before you’ve even sat down.”

“Got any tips?” he says.

“Just… try… playing a _little_ hard to get.”

“Okay, but Virtch,” he says, with a grin that melts her insides and only confuses her more. “You _do_ realise… that I’m pretty _easy_ to get?”

* * *

 

**_ii Scott_ **

There are three things Scott Moir knows for certain right now.

One.  Turns out, he’s not as smooth on land as he is on ice.

Two. Standing outside in minus twelve, using snow to ice his shoulder, is not an appropriate substitute for an ice-pack.

Three. If her expression was anything to go by, Tessa Virtue is going to miss him when he’s gone.

~

  
**February 6 th  **

He hears the muted cry through the thin walls adjoining their apartments and runs out at speed, grabbing his hockey stick and yanking open his front door before sliding across the hallway in his bare feet.

“Virtch?” he calls, banging on the door with his fist. “Virtch! You, okay?”

He presses his ear up against the wood, listening for any signs of movement.

“Virtch!” he tries again.

Nothing.

And nothing else for it.

Scott steps back, eyeing up the frame and squaring his shoulders before making the charge. He connects with the door before crashing back onto his ass with a yelp.

“Son of a bitch,” he says, rolling onto his side, quickly, to take the pressure off his shoulder blade.

He’s up just as fast.

“Use your foot, you idiot,” he says, eyeing up the hinge again and taking aim.

Scott drives the heel of his foot into the door, feeling the wood begin to splinter. Two well-placed kicks later and he’s through, racing into Tessa’s apartment.

“Virtch!” he calls again, rotating frantically on one foot in case he’d missed her the first time ‘round or simply forgotten what she looked like. “Virtch, where are you?”

There’s a groan from the door opposite and he barrels over the sofa – his shoulder protesting wildly – before charging straight through, wielding his stick in the air.

Tessa screams and Scott looks down to find an empty bath tub before his foot connects with something soft beneath him – Tessa, sitting on the bathmat.

“Oh!” he says.

“Scott, what the hell!?” she says, wrapping her arms protectively around herself.

“Oh,” he says again, realising _now_ would probably be a _really_ good time to look away and yet, here he was staring down at a very wet, very naked form, of Tessa Virtue.

“What are you _doing_ here?” she says, eyes wide and teeth clenching.

“I… uh,” he says.

_Look away, you moron!_

He tilts his chin towards the ceiling, eyes fixing on a spot near one of the down-lighters.

“Rescuing you?” he says.

“What?”

“I heard a yell.”

“I slipped getting out of the tub,” she says.

He looks down.

“Really? That’s so weird,” he says. “I slipped in the parking lot this afternoon, my legs just went out from under me, nearly threw my shoulder out, hurts like a son-of-a-bitch -”

“Scott!”

“Yeah?”

“A towel!”

“Towel?” he says. “Yes, towel - uh… right.”

He pivots toward the rail.

“Um… here,” he says, crouching down beside her and wrapping it across her shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

She tucks the towel beneath her arms, folding it across her middle, and in trying not to stare, he finds himself thoroughly distracted by the sheen on her back.

“Twisted my ankle, I think,” she replies, reaching down to give it a once-over. “I’ll be alright, do you think you could… can I help you with something?”

He turns his head, his nose near colliding with hers.

“Nope,” he replies, taking in the top knot and damp strands of curls – anything to distract him from doing something stupid like reaching out and tracing the pattern of freckles across her back. “Nope, I’m good.”

“That’s great,” she says. “Why are you _here_?”

“Haven’t we done this part?”

“Yes, I was taking a bath,” she says.

“Who takes a _bath_ at 2am?”

“Who comes _barging_ into their neighbour’s _bathroom_ at 2am?” she replies. “Please tell me that wasn’t _you_ making all that noise?”

“Uhhhhh…”

“ _Scott._ ”

“I may have… inadvertently broken your door down.”

“You may have… what?”

“Br… broken your… door down.”

“Are you _insane_?”

“I heard you scream! I… thought you were being attacked or something.”

Tessa laughs suddenly, her forehead falling forward to rest against his shoulder.

“You have a key,” she says, her words muffled against his shirt.

“I -” he starts, before realising she’s correct.

He _does_ have a key.

Because they both travel a lot.

And they tend to check in on each other’s places because generally a disaster in one apartment, means a disaster for both.

“I have a key,” he says, completely and utterly horrified with himself.

Her eyes find his and he can see she’s trying to control her laughter.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Not your fault, buddy,” she says, patting him on the chest. “Why _wouldn’t_ you break my door down?”

“Yeah, keep making fun,” he says, pointing a finger near her chin. “Next time, I’ll just let you get murdered.”

“Well the chances of that happening have now _increased_ , seeing as I can no longer lock my door,” she says.

“Bye Virtch!” he says, jumping to his feet.

“No, no, no, no!” she says. “Please… just… help me to my gown?”

“You know, if you wanted to spend more time with me… all you had to do was ask,” he says, kneeling down beside her and putting one arm around her waist.

He lifts her with ease, keeping his hold until she finds her balance.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says, dryly.

“You good?” he says.

“Yeah, I think so,” she replies.

“You gonna put weight on that foot there?”

“Uh… sure.”

She presses gently against the mat, still leaning on his arm for support.

“Ow, no, no, no, no!”

“Okay, hold on, I got you,” Scott says, reaching down and lifting her off her feet.

His shoulder protests a little but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

“What are you _doing_?” Tessa says, trying to simultaneously hold her towel in place _and_ pull it further down her thighs.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he replies, carrying her out of the bathroom.

“You don’t have to,” she says. “It’s just a little sore, I can hop!”

“And I would enjoy that,” he says. “But my mother would call it ungentlemanly.”

“I promise,” she says. “That when I next talk to your mother, this would be the _last_ thing I’d ever mention.”

“That’s a fair point,” he replies.

“Oh my God,” she says, her mouth dropping open a little. “You really did break down my door.”

“I – uh – yeah let’s maybe not focus on that right now.”

“And you think _I’m_ the one who jumps to worse case scenario!”

“Don’t make me drop you,” he says, carrying her straight through to the bedroom.

He turns her in his arms, fumbling for the light, trying not the think about what he was going to say to their landlord.

“Never once have you done that,” she says.

“Well, you never know, I could start!”

“Pfft.”

She shifts in his arms, supporting her own weight a little more and he can’t help but follow the ripple of her movement. His gaze slides down the length of her body, eyes lingering a beat too long on the spot where the towel meets her thigh.

She taps the top of his shoulder.

“Up here, Moir,” she says.

He snaps his head back quickly, not daring to meet her eye.

“Uh, I’m going to put you down now,” he says.

“Probably for the best,” she replies.

Scott lowers her gently onto the bed, trying not to look too guilty.

Sure, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before – neither the parts he could see or the parts he couldn’t – but it wasn’t his place to look now and she certainly hadn’t given him permission.

“Can I take a look at your ankle?” he says. “Just to be sure.”

Tessa nods, stretching her leg out as best she could and still keep the towel in place.

“That hurt?” he asks, putting gentle pressure against her foot.

She winces.

“Yeah, but it’s not bad,” she says. “I’ve certainly had worse.”

“Okay, so if I just leave you here, am I gonna come back in a week and still find you sitting in this spot?”

She laughs.

“No, it honestly feels pretty mild,” she says. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be wearing heels on Saturday.”

“Perfect,” he replies, with a grin. “Okay, so… I’ll just… leave you to it, then?”

“Um – are you kidding me?” she says. “I don’t have a door!”

“Uh…” he replies, shifting his eyes from side to side.

“You can’t leave me here without a door,” she adds.

“Uh… okay… what _exactly_ … do you suggest I do about that?”

* * *

 

“You could have cleaned up a little,” she says, limping her way across his living room.

“Had I known I was going to have guests at two-thirty in the morning, I’m sure I would have,” he replies. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you decorated your tree for Valentine’s Day.”

She turns slowly on her good foot, leaning on the hockey stick she’d insisted on using as a crutch.

“You know what, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to make it on Saturday, after all.”

“And… _I_ …was just about to say what a terrific idea that was,” he replies. “I think everybody should have a Valentine Tree.”

“Nice save.”

“Thank you.”

She sets the stick to the side, choosing instead to toe it a little towards the kitchen.

“You hungry?” he says.

“No,” she replies. “You need to ice that shoulder.”

“It’s really not that bad.”

She pokes her head around the door of his freezer and gives him a look.

He returns it with a lop-sided smile.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Probably shouldn’t have tried to bust down your door with it.”

“You could have dislocated your shoulder,” she says, hobbling her way towards him. “What were you thinking?”

He doesn’t have an answer for her that won’t begin with “I wasn’t”.

“I just…”

Scott shrugs, looking away for a few seconds before he can bring himself to meet the intensity of her gaze.

“I was worried,” he mumbles.

The breath from her sigh brushes across his skin and he feels his pulse quicken in response.

“Take off your shirt,” she says, putting a hand on his arm and turning him slowly.

He wants to make a joke, something obvious and crude, something they’d both brush off as intrinsically “them”.

But he can’t.

And it takes every ounce of concentration not to question why.

She’s still got one hand on his arm when the icepack presses against his back and he lets out a breath, his body welcoming the ease.

“It’s a beautiful bruise you’ve got there,” Tessa says.

“Yeah, I wiped out pretty hard,” he replies, turning his head to look at her.

“Have you taken anything?”

“A couple of anti-inflammatories,” he replies. “But that was a few hours ago.”

“Okay. Come on hero,” she says, with a nod. “Let’s raid your medicine cabinet and put you to bed.”

He wraps an arm around her shoulders, finding the way she leans in as she shuffles alongside him, oddly comforting.

She climbs beneath the sheets with no hesitation and very little ceremony, merely making adjustments to the cushion she’d placed beneath her ankle.

It’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed – years of travelling, touring and just… growing up the way they did had made it inevitable sometimes. He finds it incredible that they can still do this, with all of their history, being able to mark the difference between falling asleep by each other’s side, and needing something more – the touch and heat of skin, a whisper of breath against a racing pulse, the gentle or driving rock of hip on hip, depending on what was called for.

He doesn’t exactly understand it, this thing that they have - or had.

But he finds it as easy as the last, sinking belly first into the mattress beside her, his body sighing in relief.

“I’m sorry I broke your door,” he says, sliding his arms beneath the pillow.

She turns her head to look at him, loose curls spilling over her shoulder and onto her shirt.

“It’s okay,” she replies. “You were just trying to help.”

“What are you going to do without me, eh?” he says, his eyes already starting to droop.

“Well, I’ll probably make sure I get a neighbour who knocks,” she says.

“Hey, I knocked,” he replies, grinning into his pillow. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” she replies. “I will be telling this story to your grandchildren.”

“Will you be naked in this story?” he says. “Because, if you try to alter that fact, I will very much have to correct it… for historical accuracy.”

She smiles, letting her eyes fall closed.

Scott watches her for a while, fighting the rest he desperately needs, wondering if his shoulder would hurt half as bad if he hadn’t tried to smash it through her door.

But then she sighs in her sleep, one last attempt at consciousness before her breath begins to even. Scott reaches for her outstretched hand, taking her fingers in his and bending them toward him.

“Goodnight, Tess,” he whispers, kissing the back of her hand before letting it go.

She shifts beneath the covers, edging a little toward him, her body seeking his in the dark. He places his palm over her hand, quieting her restlessness.

He knows he’ll ache a little more tomorrow, knows he’ll probably be feeling this one for a week, but for now, at least,

he thinks the pain was worth it.

* * *

 

**February 9 th **

“This, by the way, is the absolute _worst_ idea you’ve had in a long time,” Tessa says, grabbing Scott by the shirt collar and pulling him behind a pillar. “And, I was there when you and Charlie thought that microwaving a chicken would essentially be the same thing as putting it in the oven.”

“Come on, Virtch, it’s gotta at least be a little…”

He swallows.

“… fun?”

“Are you kidding me?” she says, her eyes in very real danger of popping out of her head. “The _first_ guy… sat down and asked me where I see myself in five years.”

“I mean… maybe he was… looking to see how… committed… you were?”

“He asked if I had a _résumé_ in my purse.”

“Okay, so that’s…”

“The _second_ guy didn’t even ask me my _name_ and spent the _entire_ time talking about how much money he made in the past year and how his solid _prenup_ meant his soon to be ex-wife wouldn’t see a cent.”

“Wow.”

“The _third_ guy - I thought maybe he’d recognised me because he started to get all flustered, but turns out, he was having a panic attack. So, I had to sit there _alone_ for the next four minutes and fifteen seconds until the bell rang, and I swear to God, if you don’t wipe that smile off your face, I am going to take off these heels and throw them at your head.”

"So, you’re not having a good time then, eh?”

“Scott, a guy asked me if I would stand up so he could examine how suitable my hips were for childbirth!”

He snorts.

“So – uh – what was the conclusion?”

She whacks him on the arm.

“Ow! Okay!” he laughs. “Easy.”

“When I said, ‘try me’, this is not what I meant!”

“C’mon Tess,” he says, “It can’t be that…”

“The last guy brought his _mother_.”

“Okay, it’s bad.”

She gives him a look of such utter frustration that he can’t help but wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“I really hate you right now,” she says.

“I know,” he replies.

“So, I take it _you’re_ not having the worst time?”

Scott shrugs.

“Y’know, actually, I think it’s going pretty well.”

* * *

 

Scott thinks that if the entire building were to collapse on him right now, and he died from irreversible, traumatic injury, that would not be the _worst_ thing that could happen to him today.

He’s always been good with people, likes them to feel relaxed around him, likes to draw out a little conversation even when time doesn’t always permit it. So, he should be good at this – circling tables at five minutes a piece – and he certainly thought he had it down in the first round. But the more he rotates, the more it hits him that a lot of these women are here because they’re _actually_ looking for a match – or a hook-up – and he’s just there to win a bet.

And he’d probably feel more guilty about it, if he wasn’t thoroughly distracted by Tessa.

She’s in his line of sight, sitting one table down the next row over, laughing at something “too-tall” guy is saying. Scott had been at the bar with him earlier and sure, I mean, okay, he was in property law, did a lot of genuine pro bono work, and spent his weekends helping his aging mother fix up his childhood home, but he was way too tall - and he feels that at least deserves a con.

Tessa’s leaning in a little now, nodding intently. She smiles again and Scott seriously hopes the guy doesn’t also rescue kittens from trees in his spare time.

When the bell sounds, Scott gets out of the chair and gives the woman opposite him a bleak smile – he can’t remember anything she’s said in the last minute.

She doesn’t look impressed.

Not that he blames her.

He moves down a table, directly next to Tessa, and leans over.

“He’s too tall,” Scott says.

She rolls her eyes, pushing him away by his thigh, without even looking at him.

 _Fine,_ he thinks, _two can play it that game._

Sitting down at his own table, he squares up, determined to get those ticks back on the scorecards.

“Hi, I’m Scott,” he says, flashing a winning smile.

“Veronica.”

“Nice to meet you, Veronica. So, uh, what do you do?”

“Well that depends,” she says, her foot finding his beneath the table. “What do you like?”

 

The evening doesn’t get much better.

 

“Well, I’m a figure skating coach and I -”

“Wow, do you skate?”

“Um, I used to – uh – compete, yes.”

“That’s so cool, oh my God, I love _The Cutting Edge_.”

…

“So, what do you do for a living, Scott?”

“Well, I used to be a competitive Ice Dancer but now I -”

“I’m sorry, a what?”

“Ice Dancer.”

“Is that a… real thing?”

…

“I wasn’t very good at sports… I’m definitely the kind of person who watches the Olympics once every four years and pretends to be an expert.”

“Oh, so… did you catch any of the events last year?”

“There was an Olympics last year?”

…

“So, Scott… do you swing?”

…

She picks up the rose from the centre of their table and offers it to him.

“That better not be a pity rose,” he says, collapsing into the seat. “Not unless it’s accompanied by a whole lot of pity chocolate.”

Tessa smiles.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you there,” she says.

“Please tell me you’re still having a terrible time,” he says. “It’s terrible, right? I mean, you’re not going to run off with the kitten-rescuer while _I_ hide in the bathroom until everyone leaves?”

“Kitten-rescuer?”

“I - ”

Scott leans back into his chair and sighs.

“Things not going well, eh?” she says, her lips twitching as she tries to hide a smile.

“Give me a break kiddo,” he says. “You’re not the one who’s going to have to crawl back to Chiddy and admit defeat.”

“Why would you have to admit defeat?” she says. “You’re here, isn’t that enough?”

“After I lost the bet I… kind of told Chiddy that not only would I do it, but that I’d leave with a date for Valentine’s Day.”

“Of _course_ , you did,” she sighs.

“Look, T, I wasn’t _trying_ to be an idiot about this,” he says, hotly. “The guy had me backed into a corner and it was all I could think of at the time!”

“What on _earth_ was this bet?” Tessa says.

“It…”

He tries to look away, knows it’s probably better if he does, but there’s a level of comfort there he finds reassuring – even if she doesn’t quite understand.

“It doesn’t matter, alright,” he says. “It isn’t… exactly something I want to get worked up about, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’m Tessa,” she says, giving him a smile.

“Uh – Scott,” he says, blinking in confusion.

“And what do you do, Scott?”

“I’m a figure skating coach.”

“What a coincidence, so am _I_!”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I’m coaching a few Junior teams right now.”

“Really? Pairs?”

“No, Ice Dance.”

“You’re _not_ going to believe this.”

“What?”

“ _I_ was an Ice Dancer.”

“That’s crazy!”

“I know!”

“You seem _very_ grounded, you must have had a _great_ partner.”

“She was okay.”

“Yeah?”

“She used to sew the sleeves of my shirts shut when she was really mad at me.”

“Aw, that’s too bad… would you like this pity rose?”

“Does it come with pity chocolate? Because if it doesn’t, I know where we could get some.”

The bell sounds and Tessa grabs his hand.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

 

**February 14 th **

He rests his back against the boards, arms spread out to the side, as he watches two of his skaters having some sort of heated argument over by the stairs, and debates if it’s even worth wading through the sea of people between him and them. So long as they didn’t bring it out on the ice tomorrow, did he _really_ want to get involved?

Her chin lands on his shoulder – at least he assumes it’s hers – it is Valentine’s Day after all, and more awkward things have happened in the name of love… or desperation.

“Apparently,” she whispers. “ _Your_ girl and _my_ guy were seen sneaking into one of the locker rooms together and now the sky is falling.”

“Isn’t that – like – making out with the enemy?” Scott says, turning ‘round to face her.

Tessa shrugs.

“The course of true love never did run smooth.”

“Neither does your spread eagle,” he says. “Don’t think I didn’t catch you trying back there.”

She swats his arm and he darts out of the way to ward off a second attack.

“So, are you having a good time?” he says, leaping one-handed over the boards and onto the ice beside her.

Tessa glances ‘round at the hearts and paperchains, probably trying to imagine a world where she hadn’t agreed to this. But he’d held her gaze – late Saturday night with a dwindling box of chocolate between them – his eyes imploring hers, small smile creeping into his cheeks… and she’d caved, dragging herself down to Centre récréatifGadbois on a Thursday night to help Scott manage the affair.

“It’s not so bad,” she admits.

“Because I’m here?” he says.

“No, because the music is actually good,” she replies.

“Yeah, I might make a couple of suggestions, actually.”

“Don’t bother,” she says. “I told the DJ not to accept anything from you and to lock the booth if he sees you coming.”

“Ouch!”

Tessa shrugs.

“A girl’s gotta do, what a girl’s gotta do,” she says.

“When we get home tonight,” he says. “There’s going to be a little country coming straight at you.”

“Well, I’ve certainly heard _worse_ things coming through your wall.”

The rush of heat to her cheeks is matched by the drop in his jaw, and he’d love to tease her about the flush steadily highlighting each and every one of her freckles - and he would - if he wasn’t still too stunned by her delivery.

She’s biting down on her thumbnail, one arm folding protectively around her middle as she stares off to the side.

 _Fuck_ , he’d miss this.

She finally looks up at him, brow creasing with the effort, and he fights every urge in his body not to reach out and brush her frown away. Scott’s shoulders start to shake as the laughter bubbles to the surface and he doubles over, clutching his knees. His throat starts to wheeze, and he pulls himself up, wiping away the tears streaming from his eyes.

“Oh, God, Virtch,” he says, pausing once more for breath. “That killed me.”

She still looks like she’d rather die than continue to stand here and he figures he’ll lose her if he doesn’t do something to keep her in his space.

“You wanna dance with me, T?” he says. “Could be your last chance?”

She bites her lip, her eyes a sea of confusion before she falls wordlessly into his arms. He allows himself exactly three seconds to hold her like this, his face resting in the curve between her shoulder and neck, before he takes her hands and pushes her into the flow. She seems content to let him navigate, trusting that he’ll guide her through the throng. Every now and then he finds a little space and she’ll turn in his arms, letting his hands wander across her body. They travel over her thighs, her own hands covering his, helping their journey towards her hips. His lips caress her shoulder, before he lifts her in his arms, turning her clean toward him, allowing her arms to break free before they find his hair, before he lowers her down again, forehead coming to rest against his.

Every single part of him feels like it’s on fire

and he has no fucking clue what to do with that.

He doesn’t know if there’ll ever be another like her – someone who responds to him as easily and instinctively as she does.

He doesn’t know if there’ll ever be someone he’d rather go to war with – or for.

He doesn’t know if there’ll ever be a touch that means more.

He doesn’t know if there’ll ever be anyone he misses more -

than her.

He can feel her breath on his neck, her heart rate trying to adjust to their stillness, and he holds on tightly to her hands as they rest against his chest. She’s trembling, the slight vibration in her fingers giving her away, and he wraps her in his arms once more, knowing that if they’re ever going to be able to say goodbye to each other, they’re going to have to learn to let go.

Her eyes find his and there’s so much more buried in those depths than he could ever hope to unpack in one night.

He’d need a lifetime.

But tonight was all he had.

He doesn’t remember the walk to their office, the people who greeted them along the way, or whether they even bothered to lock the door. He just remembers the taste of her skin as she slides on to her desk, her legs parting to give his hands better access to her thighs, while his tongue explored her mouth.

She moans against his lips, the heat of her making him hard as her pelvis rocks against him. He wants to take this slow, wants to savour it for what it could well be, but that’s not a journey that either one of them has time for. She’s already tugging at his zipper, her body filled with a need some might call reckless - that she would call necessary. He grabs her hips, hands moving around to the smooth curves behind as he enters her, giving her time to adjust to the feel of him, before she finds her rhythm, riding his thrusts, each of them searching for their own undoing.

She whispers something in his ear, fingers running through his hair, while they both catch their breath.

“I didn’t catch that,” he says, brushing his lips against her ear, before kissing her temple.

“Told you,” she whispers, still clutching onto his shirt. “Everybody gets to win.”

His heart squeezes in his chest and he suddenly wants to abandon any and all plans he has to get his shit together and figure out his life, if it meant he could stay here, and keep doing this.

Because in so many ways she’s his,

and in so many ways, she isn’t,

and he’s never known how to deal with that.

So, he holds her when he can, pushes her buttons when he can’t, and hopes she’ll still work with him in the morning.

Because he knows, deep down, that even if this tug of war is all they ever are, it’ll still be the best damn relationship he’s ever had.

 


End file.
